


Come Be My Valentine

by MagicaDraconia16



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Romance, Tiny bit of Angst, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 07:17:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13735887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16
Summary: A series of short stories based around Valentine's Day, written for the Snape_Potter community's Valentine Comment Fest 2016.





	1. Chapter 1

**Harry is convinced that Severus is going to ask him to bond on Valentine's Day. Things don't go quite as expected.**

_torino10154_

 

“It’s going to be tonight, I just know it!” Harry enthused to Ron and Hermione.   
  
His friends exchanged doubtful glances. “Are you  _sure_ , Harry?” asked Hermione, finally. “I mean—” Her voice trailed off.   
  
“Snape’s not exactly acting all lovey-dovey, is he?” Ron finished, screwing up his face at even the thought.   
  
“That’s why it’s called a  _surprise_ ,” said Harry, firmly.   
  
“Then how come you’re so convinced Snape’s going to ask you to bond with him tonight?” asked Ron, folding his arms over his chest.   
  
Harry grinned at them both. “Because Severus asked me to meet him at L’Histoire D’Amour for dinner tonight,” he informed them. “Why else would he be inviting me to the newest romantic restaurant in Diagon Alley on Valentine’s Day, no less?”   
  
Stumped, Ron and Hermione glanced at each other again. Sure, Harry had been seeing Professor Snape for just over two years now, and obviously knew him better than they did, but they just had this feeling – tonight would not be ending well. 

* * *

  
  
By eight o’clock that night, Harry was a mess of nerves. He had been wanting to bond with Severus for the past six months, and had seriously considered asking Severus himself that night. But when Severus had advised him to keep tonight open for a  _special_  dinner, then Harry had known that all his dreams were about to come true.   
  
Arriving at the restaurant, he smoothed down his deep green dress robes. The assistant at Madam Malkin’s had assured him that they brought out the colour of his eyes.   
  
“I’m meeting Severus Snape here,” he told the maître d'.   
  
“Of course, sir. The Snape party is seated right this way,” the imposing French man said, and indicated that Harry should follow him. He led Harry through all the other tables, and finally stopped at a large round booth off to one side. “Please be seated, sir,” he said. “I’ll be back with your menus once the rest of your party has arrived.”   
  
Puzzled, Harry slid into the booth. Why had Severus booked such a large table for the two of them? Unless he had been specifically aiming for their privacy, it seemed rather a waste. Anxiously fiddling with his fork, Harry hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long for Severus to arrive. 

* * *

  
  
He didn’t.   
  
However, Severus didn’t arrive alone.   
  
Following in the Potions Master’s footsteps were three people Harry had never seen before. As they wove their way towards him, Harry felt his heart begin to sink. Severus was not into excessive public demonstrations, so it was not looking likely that he would have brought an audience with him to ask Harry to bond with him.   
  
“Severus . . . ?” he greeted the older wizard. “Who is . . . ?”   
  
“Glad to see you made it on time, Harry,” said Severus. He gestured behind him with one hand. “This is Monsieur Renee DeClair, his wife Madam Hortensia, and their daughter, Mademoiselle Guinevere.”   
  
“Umm, nice to meet you,” Harry stuttered out. Shakily, he shook hands with Monsieur DeClair, and barely remembered in time that he was supposed to kiss the hands of the witches, not shake them.   
  
“Monsieur Snape ‘as but recently agreed to a partnership between ‘is company and ours,” Monsieur DeClair informed Harry as they all slid into the booth. “We persuaded ‘im to come out and celebrate with us, and insisted ‘e bring ‘is  _paramour_ , too.”   
  
Feeling betrayed, Harry stared at Severus, who merely raised an eyebrow at him. “I see,” he murmured, and lowered his gaze.   
  
He barely took part in the conversation going on around him; his heart was too busy breaking. Not only was Severus obviously not going to ask Harry to bond with him, but it didn’t even seem like Severus had remembered what day it was! Feeling the lump of the jewellery box in his pocket, Harry wished he hadn’t brought that engraved ring now.   
  
“Excuse me, please, I’m afraid I have to leave,” Harry suddenly blurted, sure that if he stayed for one minute longer, he was going to disgrace both himself and Severus by bursting into tears.   
  
Ignoring the impassioned entreaties from their companions – but none from Severus, he noticed – Harry squeezed out of the booth and fled the restaurant. 

* * *

 

The knocking on his door started at 6am the following morning. He managed to ignore it for an entire two hours, before it suddenly stopped. Warily, Harry eyed his front door.   
  
“Harry, if you do not let me in right now, I shall blast this door in!” Severus’ voice threatened from the other side.   
  
“No! Go away!” Harry shouted back.   
  
He’d just turned away when the door exploded behind him. He spun around to see Severus standing in the doorway, wand in hand.   
  
“I warned you,” Severus said, stepping over the pile of debris. He then waved his wand again, and the wood floated back together like a large jigsaw puzzle, before reforming itself into a front door again. “I have no idea what happened last night, Harry—”   
  
“I just thought . . .” Harry cut himself off and bit his lip. He didn’t want Severus to know just how foolish he had been, how high his hopes had risen.   
  
“You thought it was going to be just us,” said Severus, perceptively. “You thought I was going to ask a certain question . . . ?”   
  
Harry felt himself blush from his hairline all the way down to his chest. Obviously he’d read Severus and his intentions completely wrong.   
  
“As it happens,” Severus continued, softly, approaching until he was in front of Harry, “I  _do_  have a question for you.” Harry’s eyes shot up to meet Severus’. “Silly brat, surely you realised that I did not want to pander to the expectations of yesterday,” Severus said.   
  
“I . . . er . . . oh,” was all Harry could say. He wasn’t quite sure, but he  _thought_  Severus had just said he didn’t want to ask a question that was practically  _expected_  on that certain date.   
  
Severus reached into a pocket in his robes, and pulled out a small box. Opening it, he tilted it so that Harry could see the entwined white and yellow gold bonding ring. “Harry Potter,” he said, his voice gone very deep, “would you do me the incredible honour of agreeing to bond with me?”   
  
Unable to vocalise his answer, Harry just nodded frantically, as his eyes filled with joyful tears. He threw his arms around Severus’ neck, all but toppling them both to the floor.   
  
“I take it that is an affirmative answer,” Severus’ voice rumbled next to his ear.   
  
Harry beamed up at him. “Oh, yes, Severus! Always yes!”


	2. Chapter 2

**One of them made special plans, now the other is sick....**  

_goddess47_

 

“Zeberuz, diz iz nob necezzary.”   
  
“Nonsense, Harry. I have plans for you tomorrow, and they do not involve you sniffing, snorting, hacking or sneezing.” Severus patted the mound of duvets, as though checking its efficiency. “Are you cold?” he asked, but turned away to collect another one before Harry could answer him.   
  
“Ugh . . . Zeberuz!” Harry complained. With a herculean effort, he managed to stick his head out into the fresh air, although it left him, much to his annoyance, panting and shaky. “I don’b  _need_  anoder duveb! I’m boo  _hob_!”   
  
Severus turned to study Harry, his arms folded across his chest. Harry fought the urge to hide under the pile of duvets again. He had a  _cold_ , for Merlin’s sake. That was all. Severus was acting as though he were in the deadliest stage of pneumonia.   
  
“I am attempting to sweat the illness out of you,” Severus finally said, grudgingly. “I know how important tomorrow is to you—” And of course, he’d never admit that their plans had been important to him, too, Harry thought.   
  
Struggling mightily to sit up against the small mountain that was layered over him, Harry reached out for a tissue and blew his nose with a loud honk. “Zeberuz,” he said, sounding much less stuffed-up than he had done just two minutes ago, “I’m zweating out everyding  _excepb_  de cold.”   
  
Sighing in acknowledgement, Severus removed several of the duvets, dropping them into a pile in the corner of the room. Once the pile covering Harry was decreased far enough that Harry didn’t feel like he was moving his limbs through treacle, he pulled an arm free and gestured for Severus to sit beside him on the bed.   
  
“Yez, we had planz for bomorrow,” he said, sniffing several times as he spoke. “But Zeberuz, all dab mabers iz we zpend ib  _togeber_.”   
  
“I just wanted it to go right for you,” said Severus, softly. “But I suppose we always have next year.” And he leaned forward and kissed Harry.   
  
“Zeberuz, if you geb my cold now, you are  _nob_  allowed do complain!”


	3. Chapter 3

**McGonagall and Severus have a bet going about who can more effectively romance their young men (maybe Neville for McGonagall, hee!) Said young men are worried about this very OOC behaviour.**

_lokifan_

 

It began with something that wasn't quite a Howler. 

The owl carrying the large pale-pink envelope swooped down through the Great Hall and dropped it in front of Draco Malfoy. Since it was well known that both of his parents had been killed in the Final Battle, everyone turned to stare at the returned Eighth Year student, who looked just as baffled as everybody else. 

As soon as his fingers brushed it, the envelope leapt up into the air and exploded into song – literally. 

“Och, my-y-y-y-y lo-o-o-v-v-e-e-e, my darrrrrrling,” it warbled in a rolling Scottish burr from amid a shower of confetti. “I hungerrrrrr forrrrr yer touch.” After a moment of stunned silence, the entire Hall burst out into furious whispers. Draco looked as though he wanted to perish on the spot. 

“What in God's name . . . ?” started Harry. 

“Was that . . . McGonagall?” asked Ron, his pale skin turning a sickly green. He looked down at his half-eaten breakfast and pushed it away. “Suddenly I'm not hungry,” he said. Several of the Gryffindors around them nodded agreement. 

“Oh, my!” Hermione suddenly exclaimed. Seated opposite the two boys, her eyes had gone over their shoulders, and were now wider than Harry had ever seen them. Most of the other girls on her side of the table, and some from the Slytherin table, too, were now staring and pointing. Exchanging grim looks, Harry and Ron slowly peeked over their shoulders. 

A person that  _looked_  like Professor Snape – but couldn't possibly be – had entered the Great Hall and was sauntering down the middle aisle as though several hundred students weren't gaping at him. 

Tight robes that were a stunning emerald green hugged the Professor's lean, sinewy body, while a half-cape fluttered out behind him. (Harry was desperately trying not to hear the comments about how that cape perfectly showcased the wonderful arse beneath it.) Black hair with a shimmer of deep blue highlights bounced invitingly around a face that sported creamy pale skin, and temptingly luscious lips. Dark ebony eyes were warmly fixed in Harry's direction. 

“Geurk,” was all he managed to get out. 

The hallucination – for surely, Harry had slipped and been knocked unconscious – glided up and halted beside Harry. With a flourish, the figure gave a half-bow, and drew a single red tulip from behind its back, presenting it to Harry. 

“For you, my sweet bloom,” it said, huskily. 

Harry's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, helplessly, as the figure straightened up and glided back out of the Great Hall. 

* * *

The day only got weirder from there. In Transfiguration, they were supposed to be changing a cantaloupe into a wooden chair, but as soon as Draco's wand touched his, it sprouted flowers all over it, each of which disturbingly grew a little face in the middle, and began to sing. 

Luckily, the flowers' voices were so high-pitched that nobody could make out what they were saying. Judging by how red he'd gone,  _Draco_  could hear them well enough. He hastily tried to banish the flower-decked fruit, but without success. Finally, he resorted to physically picking it up and tossing it out of the nearest open window. 

In Potions, Snape – still in those disturbingly tight robes – kept gliding behind Harry and leaning extra close, supposedly to 'offer advice' but in reality just whispering things in a very deep voice into Harry's ear whilst pressing close enough to Harry's back that he could feel just exactly what the professor had on under those robes. Or didn't have, as the case may be. 

Unsurprisingly, Harry's Port-A-Window potion first congealed into an almost solid mass, and then exploded all over the pair working in front of him. 

“Perhaps you need some . . . extra tuition, Potter,” Professor Snape purred. 

Gulping and stammering apologies, Harry raced from the classroom, all but tripping over his own feet. 

* * *

Not daring to enter the Great Hall for lunch, the two boys met up outside by the Lake, and commiserated with each other. 

They were interrupted by a flock of turtle-doves, half green and silver, half red and gold, that descended upon them, chirping and carolling madly. 

“Argh!!” 

Ducking to avoid beaks, claws and stray by-products, the beleaguered pair raced inside. 

* * *

They weren't even safe in other lessons, and now they were the talk of the school. In Charms, little pairs of candy lips kept appearing out of thin air all around Harry, making smooching sounds. Not even Professor Flitwick could get rid of them, and he had to let Harry go after ten minutes because nobody else could concentrate on the lesson. 

In History of Magic, the traumatised Eighth Years were treated to the sight of their Headmistress dancing what appeared to be the dance of the seven veils. By the time she was down to three, they had all run from the room, screaming hysterically, and trampling each other in their haste to escape first. 

* * *

The next morning, Harry found himself followed everywhere by a book reciting potion ingredients and what romantic potions they could be used in at him. Draco fared no better – a suit of armour singing sonnets in a rusty squeak accompanied him all day. 

Meeting up by chance in a corridor, they stared at each other in exasperation. “This has got to stop!” they chorused. 

* * *

At the same time, in the Headmistress' office, Professors McGonagall and Snape were watching through a crystal ball and chuckling heartily. 

“I think this proves, Severus, that I am the more romantic,” McGonagall got out between chortles. 

“Nonsense, Minerva,” Severus rejoined, “can't you see how wild for me this is making Harry? He's fairly swooning!” 

“He's certainly something,” laughed Minerva. 

“Either way,” said Severus, getting to his feet, “I suspect we both will have visitors tonight. Do you think they've remembered just what day it is?” 

“No, but I'm sure they'll remember soon enough.” Minerva winked at her Deputy Headmaster, who smirked back and laughed as he departed through the door to go and await the anticipated visit from his beloved.

* * *


End file.
